


relocation

by steel_symphony



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Other, POV Second Person, Reader Gets Transported to Middle-Earth - Trope, Shit, does that count, i haven't read the hobbit in ages either, i haven't watched lotr in ages and this is set after the hobbit, i've seen memes though, it should count, massive liberties taken, mostly - Freeform, oh god what am i DOING, reader comes from finland, running gag about plot-holes, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-11-28 22:23:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20974025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steel_symphony/pseuds/steel_symphony
Summary: The multiverse is not happy with your current life-situation, and decides to transport you to the realm of the Elvenking Thranduil.





	1. chapter 4 but its actually chapter 1: prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VenlaMatleena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenlaMatleena/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let this be proof I can't write anything without magic.

The multiverse was not happy with your current life-situation. Too long, it had deemed, had you gone on caring for other without receiving any suitable reciprocation (Perhaps you had. But the multiverse was biased. It couldn't be—it couldn't think!) But anyway, it believed—and the plot protested—that you deserved more than what this world had to offer. 

So! It hatched a plan, if plans could be hatched. One day, when things escalated enough, _waboosh!_ You would be transported to the realm of the Elvenking Thrandiul. Because, the multiverse decided, elves were much better than humans. 


	2. transition

It starts slowly. Slowly like how your eyes start slipping shut, late night catching up to you as the world _shifts_. At first, you are sitting under the dark lamp-lit streets. Then you are sitting before them, watching the places where your breath should trail in the air—crisp and cold, but also not. Trees weave through the cracks in the concrete; buildings soon giving way to greenery. And you are left alone again, yourself, a bench, and a street-lamp, train-tracks liquefying until the roaring of a locomotive becomes the rush of a river.

You are not where you were before.

You notice other things, too, like: the humidity of the air pressing down into you; the moon and stars brighter and more alive; trees like monoliths against the sky. Oaks dominate the space, trees you've never seen before entwined within. The dirt is moist, not so much that it is nearing the territories of mud, and speared through with rocks. The river rumbles not 12 paces from where you are standing.

It dawns to you then that you appear to be alone, yet the foreign forest is thrumming with life just out of your grasp, just as it dawns to you that you are alone in a new world with no knowledge of its inhabitants, little of how even to _survive_.

"_Help_," you cry, because even a predator would be more lenient than the slow death of starvation. "Help! Anyone there? I'm lost! Someone, _please!_"

The forest is silent, and in that silence you can make out the last strains of wind brushing through the trees, before falling silent and stagnant and suffocating.

_You're going to die here. _

"God_dammit_," you call again. "I'm lost and cold and hungry"-you aren't, not yet, but it is a valid threat, looming as distant as the canopy above, not close enough to touch but still irrevocably _there-_"is _anybody_ here?"

A rustle.

Then the wind picks up again, and with it you pick up voices more melodious than you've ever heard before.

"What is a _human_ doing near the Forest River?"

"Maybe they are from Lake-Town, or Dale?"

"But then they would not be alone; they would be in a party, or have a horse."

"And why would they go by the river? They would take the Old Forest Road, or even the Elf-Path."

"But they are not _on_ the Elf-Path, and we patrol it often. Perhaps they are trying to sneak in unnoticed."

"They are crying for _help_. Maybe they have gotten separated?"

"How! The patrols have been as clear for months."

"Maybe it could be a ruse?"

"They have no weapon, and their clothes are unlike anything we've seen before."

"Yes, yes, isn't that _obvious_? And there is—"

"Excuse me," you call. The forest freezes in tension. "But what kind of trees are these?"

Figures garbed in earthly-tones descend from the trees. They land silent on the forest floor, bows taunt. Oh. They are aiming at _you_.

_Still better than starvation_, you remind yourself.

"You have about as much grace as the rest of your kind," one says. Her cloak is adorned more intricately than the others. Perhaps she is the leader of the hunting party? Patrol? "What business do you have in our forest?"

"I am lost. And am a little bit freaking out. Just a little. Just a tad. Can you tell me the way to the nearest human settlement, or inter-dimensional portal and I'll get out of your hair."

"You are in the forests of Mirkwood, strange human. The trees here are mostly oak dispersed with beech. Do you know where you come from?"

_Still_ the bows are pointed at your face. You don't see a gun anywhere, and the knives they are carrying look far too intricate to belong to your average band of serial-killers.

"Earth," you say, because this is decidedly _not earth_, and these people are far too graceful to be considered human. They even refer to you by your species.

"_Where_ in Middle-Earth."

"Not Middle-Earth. It's just _Earth_. I come from Finland."

"I have never heard of such a place, and am aeons older than you. Come with us, and we shall take you before our King."

"Do I have a choice?"

"You could be our prisoner, or left out in the forest to starve. Or we could shoot you on sight."

"Fine, I'll accompany you. What do I need to know about your King?"

"Our King does not take kindly to liars."

Despite your wandering mind, you shiver.

* * *

You don't really remember how far you have to walk. Escorted by the patrol, one step blends into the other and your eyes are drawn to little things. Like the scenery, or the way your escorts' garments blend into the forest. Or the lack of sound they make as they walk, your own footsteps sounding blundering and amplified in your ears.

They don't try to converse longer, and that suits you. You are too busy trying to stay awake and make sense of the situation. Either you are dreaming, which wouldn't be surprising considering how late you were, waiting for the train, or you had _actually_ been transported to some other place-world thing. If it was the latter, then _why? How?_

"We're here," the guard-captain's voice startles you, and you start.

You'd zoned out nearly the entire way, too caught up in your thoughts and the desire to stay awake. Now you stand in a throne room, the most beautiful architecture you've ever seen in your life, facing down the Elvenking. The guard surrounding you does little to protect you from his majesty.

The Elvenking was no man. What grandiose his realm exhibited he outshone. He wore a crown of thorns and starlight upon his head, ceremonial cloak draped over tunic and leggings. His cloak was like silver iron, orange-brown covering the inside, to reflect the season; but his tunic and leggings were not unlike what you had seen the guard-patrol wear, only… flashier. More adornments.

Much like how his cloak was draped over his shoulders, he draped himself across his throne. His poise reeked of his position—both in the room _and_ his social standing. His gaze cast about the guard.

"Captain? Anything to report?"

"Yes. We found a stray human"—at this the captain gestures to you behind her—"wandering the woods near the Forest River, past the Enchanted River. They claim to be from Earth, and are unarmed, carrying a strange rectangular device."

Ah, yes, your phone. You had forgotten about it, and it was near useless now—out of charge.

"I see. Leave us."

The guard disperses, but the captain remains.

"Would it be wise to—"

"I have no doubt regarding my ability to interrogate a weaponless human on my own, Tarandir." He shifts, and then your eyes are drawn to the staff lying near his throne. And then to a wicked looking sword.

You shift as well, slightly backwards.

"Very well."

Tarandir's cloak grazes you as she leaves.

Just like that, you are left alone with the Elvenking. He stands, movements calculated and limbs all graceful and deadly. He could off you without breaking a sweat.

"Where are you from, strange human?"

"Finland. From Earth."

"I have never heard of such a place."

"I don't know where 'here' is, either."

The Elvenking's gaze bores into you, as if trying to discern the truth from your soul. You blink, not so much out of disrespect but of tiredness. It's hard to keep the room in focus; shadows gnaw at the corners and the Elvenking's eyes are the brightest thing you can see.

He blinks back.

"You are not lying. I should prepare a room for you."

"Why? Don't you usually house trespassers in the dungeons?"

"Would you prefer I put _you_ there?"

"No."

"Exactly. We have yet to determine exactly _why_ you are here, and clearly, you are tired. There would be more to gain if we spoke in the morning, when you have a clear head. Tarandir will take you to a spare chamber."

"Wou—"

"Go now, before I reconsider." 


	3. Chapter 2

You wake in an unfamiliar place. Sunlight dusts the room, trickling in from holes at the top. The linen of your bed is incredibly fine, albeit heavier than you're used to. 

Wait.

It's not your bed; this is not your room. The walls are dirt, rock, with fine steel support. You're in the Elvenking's halls, a not-prisoner waiting for a... conversation with said king. Which you might be late for, but you can't tell in the absence of a clock or windows. What are you supposed to do? Tell the guards—Tarandir, was it—that you are awake. 

And then you realise something. _Elven_king. Elven. Elf. 

These people are _elves_. 

How did you not realise that? 

You're in a fucking _fantasy_ realm. Did they have hygiene? Was there a sewerage system? Did they have toilets? Oh god, you'd take a long-drop over the dreaded chamber pot any day. Did they even shit? 

After your shocking revelation, you appraise the room. It's sparsely decorated, but beautiful nevertheless. The walls are made up of steel-supported sediment, and the floor is hard-packed earth. Light trickles in from a hole at the top. There's nothing to do here except wait, and you're too hungry to do that. So you leave. 

You almost don't see the guard.

"Oh! You're the human!" The speaker is another elf, with a quarter-staff strapped to his back. In his arms, he holds a book. "I'm assigned to bring you to Thranduil when you wake." 

"That's... great." You try to smile. Really, it's too early for this kind of social interaction, and this elf seems to be talking at the speed of light. Thankfully, he doesn't walk that fast. "Who's Thranduil? I thought you were bringing me to the Elvenking."

He pauses, and shoots you a look. "Thranduil _is_ the Elvenking." 

Ah.

The halls you walk down are more confusing than a midlife-crisis. You're not sure you'll be able to find your way back to your ... rooms? chambers? without an escort. Your stomach rumbles. 

"Are you sure I can't get breakfast before meeting the Elvenking?" You want breakfast, really do, totally because you haven't had food in a while, and _not__ in the slightest_ because you might be just the _teeniest_ bit apprehensive, and wishing to delay the meeting the king for as long as possible. 

"It wouldn't be good to keep him waiting."

Well shit. Your smile twitches, but you will _not_ complain. "Of course."

You walk in silence after that. It is less companionable; your escort does not notice. 

"We're here," he says.

You're at the same grand doors from earlier. You hesitate before opening them. 

"You'll be alright."

And then he knocks on the doors, and leaves.

No use hesitating.

You push them open. 

Even from across the room, the Elvenking's gaze bores into your soul. He has the staff in his hands still, and his sword has not moved from its place at his side. 

"Human."

"Elvenking." Oh fuck are you sassing him, you really don't want to sass him, that would be ... bad. 

"Come closer." He beckons, oozing self-assurance. He turns his gaze to the guard. "Leave us."

You wonder why he even _has_ guards, if all he does is dismiss them. 

His gaze turns back to you, and you shiver. 

"Where do you come from?"

"Finland."

"Where is that?"

"Earth."

The conversation seems like a re-enactment of yesterday's. 

"Do you know how you got here?"

"I have no idea."

Your skin prickles; the Elvenking shifts in his throne. 

"What were you doing before then? Perhaps it might be related." 

"I was waiting for my train. But before that I was out with my sister. She got drunk, and I had to take her home, which is in the opposite direction of mine. And she texted her boyfriend, telling him how I was a 'sucker' who 'didn't care for fun,' and was always trying to 'ruin the mood.'" 

The Elvenking's expression changes, now settling somewhere between confused, regal, and sympathetic. 

"You were waiting to go home after taking your sister, who had insulted you, to hers?"

You nod. The confusion drops out of his face.

"I don't see why she would insult you. You seem like a perfectly fine human to me." 

"Thank you." You fight a blush at the compliment. 

"You weren't doing anything to do with magic, correct?"

"No—on earth we have technology, not magic."

"Technology? Surely it cannot be purely mechanical?"

"Electricity. Here, I'll—" you search for your phone. It's not in your pocket. Shit. "Never mind."

The Elvenking cocks his head, slow. With all the grace of a cat, he rises form his throne. 

"Well, as it seems you have fallen into my realm, I suppose the responsibility befalls me to make sure you are cared for. Have you found your time here adequate?"

Aside from the fact that you're in a fucking fantasy land, with no way to get home, and haven't eaten, it's been fine. You phrase this more politely:

"So far. But I haven't eaten yet, and I think I'll get lost trying to find my way back to wherever you've housed me."

"It is not often that we have guests, and I cannot let them starve."

And he leads you down another set of hallways.

* * *

From the kitchens you receive a meal so small that it looks like it comes from one of those restaurants where the cost is _not_ proportionate to the serving-size. The morsel of bread is barely bigger than your palm, and tiny against the magnificent dining-table where you are seated. 

"We keep our fresh food for meal-times," the Elvenking explains. "It might not look like much, but it is Lembas, or Elvish Way-bread, and will keep you sated."

By the time you've finished the bread—which is tastier than it appears—you are full. 

Hang on a sec. 

If the bread was so quick and easy to eat, why didn't the elf from earlier just give you some of it?

"Thank you, Elvenking—or your majesty, or sire, or..."

He chuckles at your stumbling, and it might be the most beautiful thing you've heard. More sonorous than bells, and still regal. 

"Call me Thranduil."

"Thank you, Thranduil."

"What did you do to amuse yourself in Finland?"

"I had a job. I was a cashier." You don't know if you still _have_ the job. "Sometimes I'd read, but not often." 

You don't divulge the contents of your reading to him. 

"It is strange how you can understand us, as you come from a different world. Do you speak Westron, or Sindarin perhaps?" 

Strange indeed. You've never heard of those languages before. How _could_ you understand him?

"I speak Finnish and English." 

Cracks spread in the floor below you. You look from Thranduil, to the floor, to Thranduil again, and he rises. He says something, rushed, but you can't understand him. He tries again, then leaps from his spot, catching you in hims arms as he pulls away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a plot hole


End file.
